how desperate are you?
by ohlookrandom
Summary: How desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures to save you? A series of one shots based on Natasha's bid to save Clint and the people who watch her do it.
1. a girl

Trying something new. A different viewpoint at different points of the movie, observing Natasha's actions and mannerisms. Maybe later I'll explore some stranger's observations of Clint and Natasha together. We'll see. For now, enjoy my first experiment. :)

Disclaimer: No!

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**a girl  
**_

* * *

I am only a young girl of ten when the woman in black approaches me.

That, for the rest of my life, is how my friends and I will refer to her. _The woman in black_. She approaches me in the busy bazaar of a small town in India, smile sweet as the honey my grandmotheruses to make the flat bread that we are so famous for. "Little one," she calls me, beckoning to come over. "Little one, come here, please."

I approach, but cautiously and only with the approval of my best friend Khairul as he watches from behind, ready to sound the alarm if anything terrible happens. I walk towards the woman slowly, tentatively, the way my father approaches a wild python in the grass. "Hello," I say at last in my shy, tremulous voice.

She smiles at me, the smile still as sweet, but there is something about her that makes me think twice. She is calm, but there is some sort of storm brewing behind her brows. There are things about this woman, secrets that flit in and out of her eyes as she bends down to see me eye to eye. "Little one," she says gently, "what is your name?"

I look behind me to Khairul and his hand moves closer to the bell in case anything should happen. The woman follows my gaze and her smile grows knowing now- another secret has been added to her ever-growing list, it seems. "I won't hurt you," she says, still in that gentle, sweet tone. I cannot help but think of my older sister Jannah, the one who is now eighteen and married to some merchant off in the bazaars of Istanbul. She, too, carries a look of many secrets.

"My name is Amanah," I say at last, my name being picked up and whispered on the breaths of the wind. "What is your name?"

Her red hair, bright like the flames we light on the nights of Divali, falls forward in her face as she answers. "Natalie. It is so nice to meet you, Amanah. You have such lovely eyes."

I dip my head forward, suddenly shyer than usual.

"Amanah," the woman named Natalie says in her strange, accented dialect, "can you do me a favor?"

I shake my head quickly. "Father says I cannot help strangers. I am not old enough to do so."

There is a look that is on her face for the slightest moment, and in my ten year old mind I cannot pinpoint the accurate expression. When I am older I will come to realize that it is a look of pure desperation, something that says _I will do anything, anything if you will do this one thing for me_. When I am older I will realize that this is also the look Jannah wears whenever she whispers to my eldest brother Sai things that I am never told.

Instead, the woman says, "I understand, Amanah. But this is not something your father has to know about, and we do not have to tell him." She stops bending and instead sits on the front step, not minding the dust and dirt that covers the top layer.

I scuff at the floor shyly. "I don't know. Father is already angry with me for letting the cows out last week."

"I am sorry," the woman- Natalie- says with some understanding.

We stand there in silence, myself and the strange woman in black named Natalie. She stares off into the distance, I admire her gold chain. Finally, she looks back at me and catches me staring. "Do you like it?" she asks, picking it up between her slender fingers and letting me touch it.

My skin is so dark compared to hers, and I wonder where she comes from. "Yes," I tell her still in my shy voice, "it is very pretty. Like you," I add as an afterthought.

I can almost hear my brother Sai scoff in my mind: _You always did know how to say exactly the right things. _

Natalie smiles at my remark, but it is a sad smile, a troubled one. It is a smile that I will later realize means that there are troubles that must never be spoken of. There are troubles that weigh heavily on the mind of the person smiling, but they must not be revealed. It is one of those smiles that will lead to unhappiness, strange as it may seem. "Yes, it is. My friend gave it to me many years ago. Thank you, Amanah." She sighs wearily.

I am curious now, so I venture forward. "Is your friend okay?"

She brings her head back up, her sweet smile back in place. "Yes, of course Amanah. Thank you for asking."

"I cannot help you, but perhaps my friend Khairul can," I offer, not wanting her to leave without some sort of closure.

"No, no," she says a little vaguely. "It is not necessary. People say you're the best but…"

"Best for what?" I ask, my curiousity piqued.

Natalie hesitates. "People say you have a kind heart," she says at last. "But I understand that you cannot go against your father. It is always hard to do that."

"Why would I go against my father?"

"I need the doctor's help," Natalie explains- although it is not as much of an explanation as it is a subject change.

There is only one doctor in the entire bazaar. It is hard not to know who she is talking about. He is tall, with brown hair and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. He is always perpetually peering out from over the top, occasionally adjusting them. He will not know me, although I do know him. I wonder if I should do this for her, if I should do this for a complete stranger I do not know. I'm sorely tempted. I _want _her to like me, I want to help this woman who is clearly upset. I want to help her because she reminds me of Jannah, who too has a lot of secrets but nobody to help her.

"Well…" I say hesitantly. "I suppose I can always help you…"

"Will you?" And at once Natalie's face is lit up. "Thank you, Amanah!" All of a sudden I find that I am holding the gold chain I had been admiring earlier.

"Oh, I don't-" I begin.

"Take it," she insists sharply, and even at ten years old I can suddenly hear the desperation in her voice. "Take it and go. Now." She is on her feet, looming over my tiny, ten year old self.

I am suddenly scared, sure that she is hiding a secret, like how Jannah hides her secrets whenever she sees me. "I-" I stutter, backing away and letting the gold chain fall into the sand, "I-"

She immediately softens, sensing my sudden fear at her unmasking. "I am sorry, Amanah," she says gently. "I am merely excited, that is all." She puts the gold chain back into my hand. "I am sorry for scaring you. Now please go find my friend- there is little time left."

"But what will I tell him? Where will I meet you?" I put the gold chain into my pocket, planning to give it back to her when I see her next.

"You will tell him…" She cocks her head as though listening to someone. "You will tell him that someone is seriously ill and needs his help," she says at last. "There is a hut at the edge of the village. I will be there. Take him there and run."

Even though Natalie's voice is still gentle, I am still scared and I know that she is not telling me the entire truth. There is still something ominous looming in her voice, but I cannot leave this bargain now. I only have one last question. "But what if he is tending to someone when I find him?" I ask, my voice still quavery.

At that, Natalie's face changes. "Amanah," she says quietly, "no more questions. This is very, very important." Maybe it is the dim lighting in the night bazaar, but I can almost imagine I see tears glistening in her eyes. "Please do this for me." Later I will come to recognize the notes of desperation, pleading, begging. "Please."

That is all I need. I am scared of this alternately desperate and terrifyingly sad woman. Her secrets have been intimated; I am too young at ten to understand them all. So I run. I run to go find the doctor.

…

He is where I expected him to be- at Naham's house, where his two children are slowly dying. I run up the stairs, not even caring that the house is infected, not even caring that the old woman at the foot of the stairs is yelling after me in her cracked, leathery voice. I run up into the room, following the sound of the coughs.

"What are you doing, child? There are sick people here!" Naham's wife is on her feet at once, horror on her features.

"My father," I say, remembering the woman in black's instructions. "My father is very sick. Please come!" I make up some symptoms. I'm not really lying, but then again I'm not really telling the truth either.

He is resistant. "Like them?" He jerks his head at the two coughing, crying children. _I cannot leave them_, his entire posture says, _I have a responsibility here_. How do I tell him I, too, have a responsibility, that the one I have been given also hinges on life and death? For the woman made it out to be so, and I can tell she is genuinely desperate for the person she is trying to save.

I try to think of something else to say but nothing is coming to my head.

And then I remember the woman's face. I remember her eyes, the desperation that lay so subtly underneath her cheekbones, her dimples, her brows. I remember that sense of stifling desperation, the kind you get when you see your harvest wither or when your youngest sister dies from a snake bite no one can cure. I remember her voice- I remember how earnestly she begged in her own way, even giving up a gold chain that she clearly loved.

I remember all this, and so I speak like her.

"Please," I beg.

I beg not for myself. I beg for the woman in black with the red hair. I beg for Natalie, for all she has been through, for whatever she is so desperate to heal.

"Please," I repeat.

The doctor follows.

* * *

This entire story was actually inspired by Loki's line from his confrontation with the Black Widow. "How desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures to save you?" is how I think the line went. Or I'm paraphrasing. At any rate, my reasoning for using this line as the title was that Natasha, in her bid to not only help save the world but also Clint in the process, is increasingly desperate.

In this case, the girl Amanah (and that's not her name because I made it up, DISCLAIMER) does not understand the whole picture. For a ten year old she's actually pretty perceptive, though, due to her older sister Jannah. She does not understand the whole picture or why it's so desperately important to Natasha- hence the term "lost". She's lost because she does not see the whole picture the way Natasha sees it. She could have chosen to not do it, thus causing Natasha to lose the one thing that would have solidly convinced Banner to come in without any incident. Without Banner, arguably the Tesseract would never have been found, and Clint would have been lost forever.

Natasha, therefore is desperate in using this little girl as a pawn, but she really has no choice. Or she does, but she would rather rely on this "lost creature" to help save herself and Clint. Without this girl's help... things might have gone south. Bit of a stretch, but there's my reasoning for it. :)

Sorry for the lengthy footnote, but there you have it! Let me know what you think. I love hearing comments from you guys. Honestly, they make me think and they challenge me to think outside the box. So thank you for all that. Keep em coming!


	2. the doctor

Significantly shorter than the last one, but only because first impressions last so long.

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**the doctor**_

* * *

To be honest, he hadn't really been expecting there to be a sick father when he willingly walked into the hut.

It had been something he sensed when he walked through the village- if there really was a sick man, wouldn't the villagers be gathering in clumps, murmuring gossip, and scattering at the sight of the doctor? No, instead they were gathered around an old television set, chattering excitedly about some program. This wasn't the look of a village with a dying person.

Still he followed because something in the little girl's voice spoke of true desperation. He wasn't sure if it was _her _own desperation at first or someone else's, but he followed nevertheless.

If there was something Bruce Banner _was_, it was a man who followed his instincts.

So when the little girl ran right to a window, clambered out of it and disappeared, he really wasn't surprised. "Should have gotten paid up front, Banner," he muttered to himself, half-humorously and half irritated. The other guy in his head huffed.

He wasn't really surprised when the infamous Black Widow made her appearance, either. Somehow he'd always suspected that she'd be here. What _did _surprise him was how easily she gave him her name, and the other guy's suspicion spiked instantly. Assassins rarely gave their real names (well to be fair how did he know Natasha Romanoff was he real name _anyway_) and when they did, it was generally followed by the clause "if I told you I'd have to kill you". Emphasis on the "I'd _have _to kill you" part.

"You here to kill me, Romanoff?"

Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer would be "no". The Black Widow played her role perfectly- the rational, calm agent that he imagined any S.H.I.E.L.D spy would be like. But there was something different, something off about the Natasha that stood in front of him and the faceless killer he knew her to be. Banner tilted his head and tried to puzzle her out. She was pushing a little too hard, showing him pictures, trying to get him on board.

_What's her angle_? Bruce tried to figure it out even as he resisted her request to come in and help. S.H.I.E.L.D needed help with the Tesseract, needed help tracking it. _Check_. She was right; he _was _the one for the job, but why did she come personally? The one with all the cards was Fury. Or why not Agent Hill? He'd heard she was persuasive, the feminine and more tactful version of Fury. And then there was Agent Coulson, the one who personally, Bruce liked best. All three could have come in as the top ranking members of S.H.I.E.L.D and convinced him. Why send a spy that Bruce barely knew, let alone trusted?

"What if I said no?"

"I'll persuade you." Her answer was playful, but also laced with something else. Bruce put his finger on it a few seconds later- it was steely resolve. It was the kind of determination that said, _I'll get this done and I'll get you on my side for this, no matter how much work it takes_. And so he had to wonder, what on earth had made Romanoff so determined, so stubborn that _she _would personally come to his retreat and ask for the monster to come help?

He tested her, of course. He let the big guy come as close as he could to erupting and slammed the table. What he was expecting was her to back away, try rational reasoning because as long as the other guy stayed dormant, he was easy to reason with.

What he was _not _expecting was a gun pointed at his face with a deadly assassin on the other side.

"Okay. Okay. Let's try this again." He put his hands up carefully. He hadn't been expecting such a trigger-sensitive spy, but he had also seen the look of desperation flash across her face as she grabbed the gun. _She needs me, but why? _There was something else at play here. The world was in danger. _Check_. They needed to track the Tesseract, because the Tesseract was putting the world in danger. _Check_. But there was something else that was personal, that Natasha was willing to fight for. A person, perhaps. Bruce searched her face, but all he found was a mask.

Clearly, whatever this was, it was making her desperate enough that she would willingly ask one of the most dangerous people in the world for help. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D was behind this, but Natasha came personally to him. That had to count for something.

Bruce took a deep breath as Natasha decided he was safe and told the men outside to stand down. "Just you and me, huh," he deadpanned.

The other guy huffed warningly and Bruce took another deep breath.

He nodded at Natasha. "I'm in."

Maybe he imagined it but a look of relief skittered across her face before she pulled herself together. "I knew you'd see it my way. Come on, Dr. Banner. We have no time to lose."

_My way, not S.H.I.E.L.D's way. _It was personal for her now, Banner reckoned as he followed her out into the village.

An armed spy that was both deadly and desperate- he wasn't sure if that was such a smart idea.

Then again, she'd come to a man who had to keep his temper from destroying everything around him. Maybe smart ideas were overrated these days.

* * *

Another long footnote.

In this one, I chose Banner's viewpoint because it's easy to see why he would be considered a "lost" creature. Obviously Loki calls him that because he's well, he's the Hulk, but in this context, Banner might be lost because he initially does not want to help Natasha at all. All signs point to his refusal, until he begins to understand that this is something that means much, much more to Natasha than it appears to be.

Without that understanding, Banner would not have willingly come in (at least in my head). Even if he is hiding in a remote village, I'm sure he knows what it's like to fight really hard for something and lose it. He knows that Nat's probably close to that point, especially since she reacted so violently when he pushed her. The edge of her sanity was something that he needed to see; he needed to see that she was willing to do anything to get this done. Even if it meant throwing diplomacy out the window and pointing a gun in his face. (Self-defense admittedly but considering that she's very skilled in reasoning, wouldn't it have been easier to reason with Banner and bring in him voluntarily? She was lucky he didn't Hulk out.)

It's okay if you don't agree with me; I mean for this to be points of controversy at some points. Please don't hesitate to let me know what you think- approve or criticize, this is for you! (Just please be nice.) :) Much love!


	3. an agent

Many, many thanks to all those who have favorited and reviewed my story. You guys are inspirational and incredibly encouraging to an aspiring writer like me! Here's hoping you like this one- and even if you don't, hopefully it's something to think about.

Don't you just love comments like that one? It gives you such a wonderful sense of the warm fuzzies.

Disclaimer: NO. Well ok. Agent Clarke is mine. The rest, Marvel can have.

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**the agent**_

* * *

Agent Clarke has the unfortunate reputation of having fled the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility alive.

He insists to everyone that he did not _flee _the facility, he was forcibly ejected from it by Agent Coulson, but it's not like anyone is listening and after they give him the cold shoulder for the fiftieth time, Agent Clarke decides it's just easier to accept the term "coward".

In his defense, he had stayed behind when the Tesseract erupted, trying to stop that stupid demi-god Loki from destroying the entire facility- and he has a dislocated shoulder, sprained ankle and bruised cheek to prove it. Unfortunately, nobody believes him, owing to the fact that Director Fury had declared nobody alive in the debris until Clarke came stumbling out, dazed but very much alive.

Really, it's not Agent Clarke's fault that he's the grandson of two Holocaust survivors and therefore is the consummate survivor.

He's nursing a cup of coffee in the break room on the helicarrier when Agent Romanoff storms by, clearly upset. Not wanting to upset the Russian spy any more than he has to (he's heard stories from his superiors about her rather nasty Widow's Bite), he shrinks back into the room, trying to stir his coffee with only one hand without knocking the plastic cup off the edge of the table.

Luck isn't on his side. About five minutes later, when Agent Clarke has decided that the meaning of the life is indeed not in the number 42 but is instead found in the brown bottom of his cup, Agent Romanoff is in the room. He almost yelps and does spill his coffee this time, but she doesn't say anything about it, only hands him a couple of napkins.

"They tell me you were there when Loki attacked." Her voice is naturally accented with a Russian tinge, melodious and sweet.

He winces. "Are you here to chew me out, too?"

"Why would I chew you out?" she asks, genuinely confused.

"Everyone has been. They say I'm a coward for surviving the attack. They say I ran from the fight."

"Well, the question is, did you?" She settles in opposite him, lacing her fingers together.

Agent Clarke almost explodes from indignation and frustration. "I did not! I may be the newest S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but I will not idly stand by and be mislabeled a coward. I held my ground and tried to keep the Tesseract, but-" and he winces again when a pain shoots up his arm.

"Tell me what happened," she prompts, getting up and pulling a paper cup towards her.

He eyes her suspiciously. "Is this an interrogation?"

"If it were," she says dryly, "we would be in the interrogation room, Agent Clarke. All I want to know is how it happened." She looks down into her cup as though saying those words strikes a chord, and he wonders why.

So he tells her. He tells her how Loki transported himself through the portal; how he took down the S.H.I.E.L.D team with a swat of his staff. He tells her, when she asks, about the scepter and what it was capable of doing. He tells her how Loki trapped Agent Barton (he sees her eyes narrow then, and briefly wonders why) and how he took control of Barton with a tap on the chest.

Agent Clarke may be new to S.H.I.E.L.D., but even he knows when Agent Romanoff's temper has been ignited. He backs off, but she tells him- no, _orders _him- to move on with the story.

So he tells her about Selvig and Agent Macguire, but this part elicits no response from her. Neither does his story about how he had to drag himself up two flights of stairs in order to get to a secure vehicle and drive himself off before the facility exploded. She sits there, motionless, hearing him speak- but he gets the feeling that she's not really listening, that she's heard all she needs to hear.

When he's done, he goes back to staring at his cup. "And that, Agent Romanoff," he says with not a little touch of bitterness, "is how I lost my job at S.H.I.E.L.D."

She sits in silence for a few moments, tapping her chin. "I can give you a job," she says with a shrug.

He perks up at that one. "You can? What is it?"

This is how he finds himself at a desk, searching every camera in the entire world for Agent Clint Barton.

…

"Anything yet?"

"No, Agent Romanoff," he answers diligently, still scanning the screen.

"Let me know if anything pops up."

"Will do," he yawns.

She lingers for a moment. "Thank you," she says suddenly. "I appreciate this."

He continues to type furiously, still searching for facial recognition matches and patterns, but finds nothing save a few red herrings. "Ma'am, can I ask you a question?" he asks, fingers still flying over the keyboard.

She stops mid-step and turns around to look at him. "Depends on what the question is, Agent Clarke."

"Do I have permission to run these programs?" The young agent looks up. "I mean, Fury never gave me permission to use these. I just assumed-"

"Don't worry about Fury," she says calmly. "Take it from me. You're doing the right thing."

Something in her voice makes him nervous. "Uh…"

She comes back to his desk and perches by the side. "Something wrong, Agent Clarke?"

He fidgets with the pen on his table. "Agent Romanoff, I just don't feel comfortable subverting Director Fury's orders. I am on probation, after all." He fiddles with the pen as he twirls it between his fingers. "What's so special about Agent Barton, anyway? Shouldn't we be focusing on finding Loki?"

The pen is out of his hands the next moment and he finds himself staring into a very cool pair of eyes. "You are not subverting Director Fury's orders," Natasha says in a steely voice. "You are assisting in an operation where the objective is to retrieve Agent Barton back into the field. If you do not wish to participate, you are free to leave."

He eyes her, not really sure where this hardcore, hardnosed agent is coming from. After all, from what he's heard from his seniors the first day on the job, the Black Widow's diplomacy and skill at getting exactly what she wants without any fuss is legendary. The fact that she's not even trying to hide it sort of worries him- and he _still _doesn't understand why she's so worried about one agent. To him, once Loki is out of the way, then their path is cleared and Barton is free to come back as he pleases.

Right?

The spy is waiting for an answer, so he tunes back into the present. "I'll keep looking," he says awkwardly, turning back to his computer.

"Please do," Agent Romanoff says grimly, walking off. "Because Barton is the key. Once we find Barton, we find Loki. Got it? Good."

…

When the news comes in that their enemies are in S.H.I.E.L.D uniforms, the first thing Agent Clarke does is panic.

The second thing he does is reach for the gun that comes skidding across the floor when one of his colleagues falls to enemy fire. He tries not to think about the fact that the gun he's holding is slick from Agent Quick's blood, or that Agent Killian is screaming as she writhes from a gunshot wound.

What he does notice is that his hands are steady on his gun, his aim accurate. The other thing he notices is Director Fury swearing steadily as the computers go blank. Struck with horror, he watches helplessly as one by one, the computers go black and the ship begins tilting horribly as it loses all power.

Spinning around, Agent Clarke catches sight of a face disappear from the top window- a face he remembers seeing many times on a computer screen as he searched the various cameras for him. Agent Barton is heading out of the control room- and instinctively, Agent Clarke makes a run for it, skirting the edge of the battlefield and pelting after Barton.

"What are you doing?" someone screams, and it sound like Hill and she's either yelling at him or some other rookie who looks like he's fleeing the scene. But Agent Clarke's heart is pounding in his chest- he remembers Agent Romanoff's words:

_Once we find Barton, we find Loki._

There he is- right up ahead- and Agent Clarke puts on another burst of speed. "He's heading down to the containment facility!" he radios it in. "Barton is heading down to the-"

He doesn't even see it coming, the blindingly fast bullet that comes speeding towards him. It doesn't hit him directly in the throat; it nicks him by the side of his neck, and spreads from there. It feels like a thousand cuts have suddenly opened all over his body, and he collapses, legs jumping from under him like they've been electrocuted.

He can feel the lights go dark for a moment, or maybe that's the computers failing again. He can't tell as things begin swimming in front of his eyes. _Barton. _He tries to get up, but he is now paralyzed. _Find Barton_.

_Take it from me. You're doing the right thing_.

People run by him, and he can hear muffled shouts and screams. Someone leans over him, yelling something into a communicator, and he can just make out Hill's face as she cups his face in her hand. "Stay with me!" she yells at him- he tries not to laugh at the irony that even when he is close to death she is _still _yelling at him- and she screams for a medic, _help_.

All he can think is, _Find Barton, find Barton_. He tries to say it but all he can do is uselessly suck in air and even then that's not going so well.

When the lights finally go dark, all he can see is Agent Hill's mouth moving, lying to him and telling him he's going to be okay.

And when his mind finally settles in for sleep, all he can hear is Agent Romanoff: _Take it from me, you're doing the right thing_.

…

He wakes briefly to find Agent Romanoff waiting for him, white-faced and pale.

"Are you _out of your mind_?" she hisses once he's fully awake. "Going after a full blown assassin and not noticing your surroundings? What were you thinking, getting shot by a stray agent?"

He motions for the clipboard and scribbles, _You told me to find Barton_.

"I didn't tell you to get yourself killed," she snaps.

_Did we find him_?

Her expression softens. "We did. He's in the containment room down the hall. If you hadn't radioed it in… if you haven't gone after him…"

His expression relaxes. _We won._

He doesn't notice her tremulous smile or the way her hand shakes as she brings it up to smooth her hair away from her forehead. "Yes, Agent Clarke. We won. Thanks to you."

He blinks once, hoping she'll understand the universal sign _blink once for yes_, and drifts back to sleep.

…

And so, Agent Clarke dies a hero and with a smile on his face.

* * *

Long footnote ahead **beware beware beware**

I am well aware even as I type this that this may be the chapter that gets the most backlash. One of the main reasons is that Natasha may be taken as the bad person in this chapter- _because _she is so insistent that this man find Barton, he puts his life in danger, trusting that her convictions are solid and will lead to victory for them. It does lead to victory, but her convictions, which ultimately override his because of their strength and desperation, also have a high cost. Agent Clarke ends up dying because he puts his life in danger due to Natasha's insistence that they find Clint above everything else. Because she tells him "Take it from me. You're doing the right thing", he willingly goes after the very man she is trying to save- to "find him", which to him is equivalent to "saving him". In this case, the reason why Agent Clarke is lost is because he follows Natasha's convictions to the point where he dies for them. It's not her fault, per se- I don't consider her completely to blame- but she does have a hand in making him think that finding Clint and stopping him was the only way to end the war. He dies believing it. (Although really, had he been better trained he would have seen the other agent come around the corner.)

Another reason why this may be received badly is because this chapter, unlike the other two, is a lot darker. It's darker than anything I have ever written, because in this chapter, there is a lot of unresolved guilt that happens after the chapter. We do not know, for example, how Natasha deals with the pain of losing an agent because of her convictions (if we take this chapter to be true, which is completely up to you). We do know that she tells Clint not to think about the agents he hurt or killed- which then brings up the question, how does she deal with Agent Clarke's death? Does she put it aside and move on? Or does she internalize it? This chapter will not explore that theme- for now. Perhaps at a later date I may try to tackle that issue.

I consider this chapter extremely dark because it deals a little bit with the subject of the carnage of war, and it also highlights one of the lines that I found very poignant in the film. It comes when Clint turns to Natasha and says: "You're a spy, not a soldier and now you want to wade into a war. What did Loki do to you?" Or something like that. To me, this chapter served to illuminate that quote. Why does Natasha want to join in the effort to end the war, even though she's equipped for only spying? Because she's lost someone she worked with. Because war, no matter how big or small, always ends up costing lives. Because war forces people to compromise and often listen to convictions stronger than their own, and it becomes a gamble as to whether those convictions pay off or not. In this case, it did in the long run, but it cost a very high price for someone Natasha trusted for a short while.

But is Natasha completely to blame? I honestly don't think so. She is doing what any good partner would do- trying to find her other half, to use a metaphor. She's being resourceful, employing idle hands to help her search a vast network that she couldn't do alone. She knows what she has to do to bring Clint home, and so she does it. I like to think she is genuinely remorseful when she seems Agent Clarke about to die later. Is she completely to blame? No. Stuff happens. He was in the right place at the wrong time and can anyone really blame Natasha for that? No, because it's not like she _told _him to go after Barton himself. Like she said, "I didn't tell you to get yourself killed." His duty was to _find _Barton. He took it a step further. Now whether that is because he truly believed that what she meant was find Barton = end of war or whether she meant find Barton = that's it, you're done; either way I do not think that she is completely to blame for his death. It's one of those gray area things. War is messy. Natasha knows that. So does Agent Clarke. It certainly would also lend some weight to the line "I have red on my ledger, and I'd like to wipe it off." The red is stained in part by Clarke's blood. At least to me, anyhow.

So it's up to you. You get to decide if Natasha is innocent, guilty, or a mixture of both. To me I will always consider her one of the good guys- but even good guys have those times where they screw up or completely miss it. I know I've had those moments- haven't killed anyone but I've had those moments- and I know you have too, dear reader. So let me know what you think in the review box. It's okay to disagree with me, it really is!

Much love and hoping you don't hate me for the story OR this ridiculously long footnote.


	4. the medic

Again, thank you so much for your continual support of my fic. It means a lot that you guys are responding so enthusiastically with each chapter that I post, and it motivates me to continually push myself and put my best foot forward in writing. You guys are quite simply, the best. Thank you so much! Here's hoping you like this chapter.

Disclaimer: I can pay you five dollars to sell me this franchise, Marvel. No? Oh.

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**the medic**_

* * *

I have never been so harried before.

As I move between corridors, rushing to aid and help as much as I can, I can hear someone screaming for my help. It takes me a moment to realize that it's coming from the open door leading to the containment facility- I hesitate, but only for a fraction of a second. I leave the agents behind in the hallway, knowing that they are already gone, already made their peace with death.

My shoes clatter down the metal staircase, and I wonder what I'll see here. I know that the demigod Loki is trapped here, _should _be trapped here in a prison cell- but the chamber is empty. No- there isn't even a chamber there. It's empty, bottomless space and I can't help but wonder if he's escaped among all the chaos, or if he fell through the hole somehow. What with all the chaos, I can never be sure anymore.

What I am certainly not expecting to see is Agent Romanoff bending over someone on the ground. "Sullivan," she strains out when she recognizes me, gritting her teeth as she attempts to drag the man off the bridge, "_stop gawking _and come help, please!"

"Sorry-" and I am running towards her. "Why, that's-"

"Agent Barton, yes, yes," she says sharply.

Even as I hook my hands under Agent Barton's arms and begin to help drag him off, I frown. "I thought he had turned and was working against us."

"He did," Agent Romanoff says shortly, "and let's not talk about it."

My brows furrow when she stumbles. "Agent Romanoff, you are in no condition to help me."

"I'll tell you when I can't help you, Sullivan," she says with the bite of acerbic wit that I know she's famous for, "and this is not the time." But she winces anyway when she accidentally bumps into a metal railing.

"Stop," I demand. "Stop. Put him down, Agent Romanoff and let me tend to you."

"I'm _fine_," she insists. "Sullivan, we need to get him to the containment room-"

"He's hurt, Agent Romanoff, we need to give him some medical treatment-"

"I _know _he's hurt, Sullivan, I'm not blind!" she yells, and her voice echoes even in the tumult of the room. She lowers her voice when she sees me recoil, slightly stung by the venom in her tone. "Sorry. Long day. Now _please _listen to me, Sullivan. He needs to be in the containment room. No drugs. Strap him in. And whatever you do, _don't hurt him_."

I glance at the unconscious man, remembering the moment I had heard that the rumors were true, that the man who had been an almost-legend around the facility had turned traitor. "Agent Romanoff, with all due respect, he's a traitor. Perhaps we can put him in the-"

I never get to finish my sentence because she is on me the next moment, eyes blazing with fury. "Don't you call him that," she bites out. "Don't you dare stand there and call him a traitor without knowing exactly what he's been through, what we've _all _been through. Until you've been on the front lines of this war, don't you dare judge him or me or anyone else on this ship." Her grip tightens on my collar. "Is that understood, _Dr. Sullivan_?"

I gulp nervously. Death by an angry Russian spy is not how I intended to go. "Understood, Agent Romanoff."

She looks like she's either about to slap me, punch me, kill me or do all of the above when her communicator crackles to life and Director Fury's deep baritone rumbles out. "Agent Coulson is down."

Agent Romanoff's demeanor instantly changes. She backs off and presses the communicator to her ear, as though by doing so she can change the inevitable. I, as a medic, know what it's like to stare death in the eyes, so I just wait for the verdict. Director Fury continues on, and I strain to hear more- "They called it."

So that's it, then. One of the most beloved men on this ship has passed on, and I can't help but glance down at my feet, where Agent Barton is still out cold. He led the charge, I can't help but think, he led the army that invaded this place and killed friends, colleagues, people I cared about. He is partly responsible for this.

As if she can read my thoughts, Agent Romanoff turns. If looks could kill I'd be six feet under in a grave dug by my own hands. Reluctantly, I pick Agent Barton up and begin dragging him to the containment room nearest this facility.

Most days, I hate my job.

…

The next day is about as gloomy as the first. Nobody wants the job of dealing with the "traitor" in room 215 G so it falls to me, the medic who brought him in. It's not like I have a lot of work to do anyway, owing to the heavy casualties wrought on the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, so grudgingly I take the job. Besides, I remember Agent Romanoff's glare, and that is enough to keep checking in on Agent Barton every hour.

She comes to me when the sun is setting, and I automatically reach for a bandage when I see her temple is bleeding. "I'm fine," she says bluntly, waving the bandage away. "How is he?"

"Recovering." I glance at my notes. "His vitals are okay but he still hasn't fully awakened." I don't tell her about how he had a brief screaming fit earlier that afternoon when he woke up and found himself strapped to the bed. I also don't tell her what he said, how he raged and frothed and screamed. And I certainly do not tell her that in his sleep, he murmured indistinguishable things, but over and over he kept on murmuring her name.

I don't need to tell her any of these things. She already knows, most likely. Word travels fast among medics who are trying to take their minds off the death that surrounds them.

She is rubbing the side of her face. "Can I go in and see him?"

"I don't know that it's safe," I begin, but pause when I glance back at the sleeping agent. It has been a full twenty-four hours after all, and the last time I had checked in on him there had been no screaming, no brief moments of hysteria. Only a groggy man who looked at a medic, blinked twice and turned away with shame in his eyes.

"Yes," I say in response, "go in and see him. But don't-"

"-release the straps until it's safe," she finishes the sentence for me. "I know. Thank you."

The door is almost half-open when she turns back to me as an afterthought. "About what I said down on the bridge." She closes the door again. "I meant what I said. About how you don't know the entire story and how you don't get to judge us all for it." She pauses again. "Do you still think Clint is a traitor?"

I hesitate at that one. I don't know how to answer.

She watches me struggle with the question for a while before she nods slowly. "Don't be too hard on Clint, Sullivan. He is as innocent as you or me in this." She sighs, a long, tired sound that seemingly has been repressed for the longest time. "Just… don't hate him." And then she leaves.

I watch as she settles in beside his bed and slips her hand into his. I will never understand why she is so intent on defending a man who, by all accounts, is only her partner, someone who turned his back on the rest of us. Perhaps I never will. But as I walk away, I wonder if there isn't some truth in her words. If maybe, Clint Barton simply made a mistake. If maybe there is hope for redemption after all.

At least, that's what I tell my colleagues later. They still agree he's a traitor. But it's a start.

* * *

**Footnote ahead!**

This one was tricky to write, simply because the story opens up with the action pounding in. Right from the start we're treated to Doctor Sullivan's thoughts as he is going madly about trying to help and heal. He runs across Natasha and Clint by sheer accident, almost, and hopefully you could tell that he's not very keen on helping. I didn't think sentiment towards Clint would have been very kind following his traitorous act (because let's face it how many people really knew the extent of Loki's danger?); so therefore Dr. Sullivan is "lost" because of his prejudice against Clint.

This piece was meant to illustrate Natasha's protectiveness of Clint, even when she had just knocked him out cold in order to subdue him. No drugs, nothing to help him- she wants him to heal on his own. Additionally, she doesn't want _anyone _to hurt him more than he already is, even going so far as to lose her temper against the doctor when he comments on something that would have been a direct observation to anyone else. After all, to the bystanders, it would seem like Agent Barton had indeed turned rogue if they didn't know about Loki's mind control. I doubt Fury would have said much to them. The only thing he might have said to any of them was "Find Loki, oh and by the way, keep an eye out for Agent Barton, too, since he's on the wrong side".

But Natasha sees comments like Sullivan's as an insult to Clint, as hopefully is evidenced in this chapter. To her, only she alone knows what Clint is going through- thus lending weight to the scene in the movie where they're in the room together talking about the entire incident. "Do you know what it's like to be unmade?" he asks, and she responds with, "You know I do." To Natasha, maybe being "unmade" in a way means having to respond to and deal with the negative backlash of her actions. As a Russian spy coming into S.H.I.E.L.D, I bet nobody associated with her very much due to where she was coming from and the entirely new situation she was in. The same is true for Clint. He is now "unmade", because he is now considered a traitor by many.

This, in a sense, is Natasha's way of protecting him. By taking someone who is clearly prejudiced against her partner and trying to convince him that Clint is still at heart a good person, she is trying to stem the backlash that is bound to come. It isn't going to be all candy and roses from here, but she's willing to try and protect him. In a sense, this chapter is meant to show how much she cares for him.

So there you have it. Have any thoughts? Agree? Disagree? Any further additions to this? I love hearing your thoughts on this. You guys are the best, as always, and thank you again for reading my humble fic.


	5. the director

I am beginning work at... 10.30 a.m. My muse only decides to keep late nights now, apparently, but I've never started work this late before... Well, here's to hoping you enjoy it. :)

Disclaimer: I own nothing Marvel. No. Not even complete comprehension of how the universe works.

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**the director**_

* * *

"So what now?" Agent Coulson's voice is strained.

On the other line, Hill is waiting for his directive. He imagines her leaning against the rubble, exhausted and beaten up but still raring to go once given orders.

He deliberates. "Call the Avengers in," he instructs.

"With all due respect, Director, the Avengers aren't going to want to get involved," Agent Hill says.

"Tell them they have no choice." He begins striding away, ignoring the lumps of pain that shoot up his spine and legs.

"They're volatile," Agent Hill argues, "and-"

"Agent Hill," he growls, "that is an order."

She falls silent and Coulson, ever the rational and diplomatic one, takes up the reins. "I'll call Agent Romanoff," he says, but his boss cuts him off.

"_Don't _call Agent Romanoff in. She's on mission right now to Russia and you know all hell will break loose if we tell her about what happened at the facility tonight."

"Sir, with all due respect, she's one of our best agents."

"She's _also _on mission right now."

'That can easily be truncated," Agent Coulson says reasonably. "I can get a jet out to her location, get her picked up, brief her."

"Can you also keep her in the dark about Barton?"

"With all due respect, sir, if she found out we were keeping her in the dark about him, she'd be tempted to go rogue just to get him back." Agent Coulson clears his throat. "She'll help you, but you _need _to give her the cards."

Nick Fury growls under his breath. "Fine. Call Romanoff. Tell her what needs to be done. And then get her to help you get the rest of the Avengers." He glances behind him at the smoking wreck of a facility. "We're going to need all the help we can get."

…

There is a reason, after all, as to why he wasn't keen on telling Natasha Romanoff what on earth is going on.

She calls him several hours later and begins their conversation with a very diplomatic turn. "I swear to God, Fury, if you do not tell me what is going on right now I will-"

"It's nice to see you too, Agent Romanoff," he says sardonically, and her image on the videophone flickers. "What has Agent Coulson told you?"

"Only that Barton's been compromised. What's happened?"

He tells her the whole story, or at least tells her his version of the story.

She is silent for a bit, finger tapping thoughtfully on her chin. "So this Loki. He's on the loose?"

"We need to stop him and get the Tesseract back," Fury nods. "Your orders are to help search for him."

Her eyes narrow. "With all due respect sir-"

"Don't argue with me right now, Agent, I've just been shot- by your partner, no less- and the Council will be holding a conference in a matter of hours." Fury's own eyes narrow to match her expression. "Your orders stand. You will be helping Dr. Banner and Tony Stark-" and he ignores her expression as it changes to a grimace, "-and you will be handling the team that has eyes and ears out for Loki. Is that understood?"

"And what if we run across those controlled by Loki?"

"I leave that up to your better judgment, Agent. I don't care if they're taken dead or alive." He pauses. "Except Selvig. Leave him. We need him to dismantle the Tesseract."

"But Agent Barton, sir-"

"Agent Romanoff," Fury interrupts, "as of right now Agent Barton is a rogue agent. Protocol stands. You know what you have to do. Shoot on sight if you have to. Is that understood?"

She reaches over and disconnects the conference call, and Fury hangs his head and sighs. "I told you we shouldn't have told her," he says to Coulson, who is leaning against the wall and fiddling with his tie.

"It's good we took the risk, Director. I think we'd rather just one rogue agent rather than two." Coulson pushes away from the wall. "But with all due respect-"

"Is that a phrase people use nowadays to signal that they're _about _to disrespect my orders?"

"-perhaps you shouldn't have told Agent Romanoff to shoot her partner on sight, sir. You know she's not going to do it."

The director only sighs again as the computer beeps, signaling another call coming in. "Let's hope we don't come to that, Agent Coulson. I don't like having to deal with the Black Widow when she's in this mood."

…

"Fury-"

"That's _Director _Fury to you, Agent Romanoff." Fury keeps on striding down the hall. "What is it now?"

"It's about Loki's interrogation."

"It's in an hour. Why?"

"I want to do it." The note of conviction in her voice makes Fury turn around, and he eyes Natasha as she stands in the hallway, arms folded and face locked in a determined stare. "I want to interrogate that demigod, find out what he's up to."

"Thor is going to do it." Fury dismisses her request with a wave of his hand and continues walking.

No, he hadn't really expected her to drop it, but he sighed nevertheless as she matched his stride. "Thor won't do it," she says in response. "Loki will take his desperation and twist it to his own advantage. He'll end up playing with Thor, and we'll get nowhere and nobody except one happy demigod." She gets in front of him and halts him in his tracks. "If you want anything out of Loki, you'll let me do it."

"No means no, Agent Romanoff."

"Director Fury, if you don't let me do this I'll-"

"Agent Romanoff," Fury booms, "I may be wearing a patch over my eye but how blind do you think I really am? Do you think that I don't know you've been running a covert operation with Agent Clarke to find Agent Barton when I hadn't authorized you to? Or that you want to interrogate Loki because you believe that demigod knows where Barton is?" He glares at her and if anyone else had been any less courageous than Natasha Romanoff, they would have quailed. "Your commitment to your partner does not extend to the privilege of flaunting _my _specific orders."

"With all due respect sir," Natasha fires and _oh_, Fury just _knows _that that tone promises insolence from the Russian spy, "you haven't stopped me from running that operation so clearly you have some investment in it as well. Also, _sir_, while I do believe that Agent Barton is linked to Loki, I also believe that I am the best for this interrogation." She stares him down, continuing, "Loki's slippery. So am I. Let me at him."

A door opens and Thor walks out, his hammer by his side. "I apologize," he rumbles, "but I could not help but overhear the conversation." He glances at Fury. "I, too, believe that she is the best-suited to question my brother. I love him dearly, but I am incapable of hurting him."

_Son of a gun. _Fury throws his hands up. "Very well, Agent Romanoff. You get your way again, as usual." He points at her. "_Don't _let your emotions get in the way. Get the job done and get out. Understood?"

She says yes, but Fury has a sinking feeling that she has all these things planned and he's not going to like it one bit.

…

"Director Fury."

"Agent Romanoff." He doesn't look up from Coulson's blood-stained trading cards.

She comes up beside him. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir."

"_My _loss?" He snorts.

"Yes, sir." She is unusually docile right now, Fury thinks, so he turns to look at her from out of his one good eye. She is tired and it looks like there's a cut on her temple, because blood is trickling down the side.

He sighs and looks away as he's reminded of the incident that caused all of them to suffer through all this senseless war. S.H.I.E.L.D. was designed for intelligence, not for warfare. It isn't fair to his people that they were attacked here in their home base by one of their own. "What do you want, Agent Romanoff?"

"Sir?"

"You're not here to talk about the loss of my right-hand man, and you're not here to talk about what we're going to do to find Loki." Fury shuffles the cards again, trying not to think too much about whose blood stains these cards. "In fact, you haven't really been talking too much about this entire mission as a whole, have you?"

"I'm not sure what you're getting at, Director."

"Barton." He turns to look at her. "From the very start, this was all about Barton- has been and will be, from the looks of it." Fury looks her dead in the eye, daring her to lie directly to his face, to the man who has the power to issue a death warrant for her, to the man who in a way, has provided her a home for the last few years. "So what do you want for Agent Barton now, Agent Romanoff?"

"You read me too well, Director." She blinks.

"I know," he says dryly, "I like to think I picked up some skills from you." He remembers radioing in Barton's position after he received word from the junior S.H.I.E.L.D. member caught in the crossfire. "How is he? And Agent Clarke?"

"Clint's fine. Shaking off the hallucinations and nightmares, but the medic in charge says he'll snap out of it."

"And Agent Clarke?" Fury presses.

She looks down at that one. "He died an hour ago."

The both of them stand silently- Fury because that is his innate nature and Natasha because she doesn't think anything will absolve her from the guilt. Finally, Fury breaks the silence. "I am sorry. I know he was helping you with your operation."

"There was no operation," she insists.

He raises an eyebrow at that one. "Agent Romanoff, don't sully Agent Clarke's reputation with another lie to me. I know about it- but as you pointed out, I never stopped it." He finger the blood soaked cards. "He died a good death. If he hadn't radioed it in, you would never have stopped Agent Barton from causing more damage."

She crosses her arms, clearly disbelieving but unwilling to contradict him. "So what now, Director?"

"What now?" He shrugs. "We give in."

"We can't do that!"

"Can't we?" he asks rhetorically. "We've lost, Agent Romanoff. We haven't got anything to live for."

"We can't let Loki get away with this, Director."

"Get away with what?" Fury inquires. "Are you talking about not letting him get away because he's about to destroy the world as we know it, or are you talking about how he tortured your partner?"

"They're the same thing," she answers too quickly. "He hurt both of us, Director- isn't that why you called in the _Avengers _initiative? To avenge what he took from us?"

"Revenge and avenge are two very different things, Agent, and you would do well to learn the difference," Fury replies.

Natasha turns away from him towards the window, where outside Stark is doing his best to repair the engines that are running at very low speed. "So what do we do about Agent Barton?" she asks at last.

Fury takes a deep breath. "The Council wants to bring him in for judicial action."

She whirls back to face him. "Judi- they can't do that!"

"They can, Agent Romanoff, and you know that they will," he says with resignation. "I fought for Agent Barton, but they overruled me. Something about him turning on the organization he swore to protect and endangering the country."

"That wasn't-"

"-his fault," Fury agrees, "but the Council doesn't understand that."

"You're the director of this agency," Natasha fires, "do something about it."

"I am." Fury glances down at his cards and remembers what Coulson told him at the start of this war. _She'll help you, but you need to give her the cards. _

"Do not fight Loki," he says at last.

She looks back up at him, her fists still bunched into the black fabric of her suit. "Excuse me?"

"Agent Romanoff, that is an order." He stares at her with a steely glare. "The order is that you do _not _fight Loki. Do not leave these premises. Do not take Agent Barton with you. Do not disappear into thin air, because we _will _need to find you."

Understanding begins to dawn in her eyes. "Director-"

"Go," he orders. "Your orders stand, Agent. I will call you again when the time is right."

She leaves at once, and Fury resumes his post at the window. For once, he's convinced that Natasha Romanoff is going to follow exactly what he wants. And he's never felt so sure in his life.

…

"Where is Agent Barton?" the shadowy figure asks on his left.

Fury shrugs. "Probably left to go fight Loki."

"Or aid him," another figure supplies, and angry murmurs raze the conference hall.

"Might I remind you, sir, that he saved multiple civilians' lives in Rome? Or that he once prevented a village from being blown to bits in Damascus? Do all these things mean nothing to you?" Fury crosses his arms. "Agent Barton is a good man."

"He also led a charge that killed a hundred people on board today," the woman in the center says accusingly.

"_Loki _led a charge," Fury corrects. "Agent Barton made a mistake. We all make mistakes. Don't you, Councilwoman?"

"Let's hope you're right, Director Fury," the first man says with a hint of venom in his tone. "Because you don't want the Council to think _you're _one of our rare mistakes."

Nick Fury only grins, a dark smile that broadens his face and makes the eyepatch seem even more ominous. "Oh, don't worry about that, Councilman. There are worse mistakes to make."

And with that he ends the call just as Hill comes rushing in with the news that an unauthorized jet is making its departure from the hangar.

He gives Natasha Romanoff all her cards, all the cards she needs to make a good play. He just hopes she knows what the right play _is_.

* * *

**Footnote ahead!**

This one was difficult to write. Nick Fury is a character whose head I'm not used to at all. So I'm not completely used to writing how he would think and I don't think I'm all that adept at writing a slippery, devious character like he is. So, apologies for that!

Anyway. I chose Director Fury because he seemed like a natural choice to make, having witnessed Natasha and Clint's partnership from the very start. Because he knows what they're like together and how protective they are (possibly), his first instinct is to keep one half from becoming emotionally charged in the mission. It's why detectives don't want their colleagues working a case if they are personally involved with the victim. Personal bias gets in the way. So it makes sense that Fury would be against Natasha getting involved from the very start.

From Chapter 3, we know that Natasha is already running her own mission- find Clint Barton. That's precisely what Fury does _not_ want her to do- he wants her to stick to the boring job, get dirt on Loki, find the demigod, find the Tesseract, yadda yadda- but none of that actively involves looking for Natasha's partner. In fact, he goes so far as to say, "Shoot him on sight if you have to." I always thought that Fury does like Clint as an agent, but not _that _much. He's a director of an agency; he can't afford to be sentimental towards all his employees.

Fury, being the director, is very much "by the books" in my opinion in the sense that he's very regimented. "What I say goes" seems like his tactic. Which explains why he and Natasha are seemingly at odds in this fic. Natasha may be loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mission statement (explaining why in the film she defended it against Stark's accusations) but she isn't necessarily loyal to Fury. He tells her to do A, B, and C, and she'll end up doing E, F, and Z. He can't understand why she needs to find Barton- or want to- and won't even bother giving her any room to do so. In this sense he is "lost", and ironically enough I think he considers Natasha "lost" as well due to her emotional entanglement in this case.

The last conversation takes place after the turning point in the film, after the battle on the helicarrier but before he throws the playing cards down on the table. He's still irritated with Natasha for going against his orders, for seemingly prioritizing Clint Barton above everything else- but in the wake of all the deaths on the carrier, I feel like Fury is just tired. He has enough energy for one last ploy- the ploy to get Stark and Rogers moving- but the man is exhausted from Coulson's death, his injured men, and above all the "judicial action" (read: almost-certain-death-sentence) of Barton weighing on his mind. And I think this is the turning point for Fury- that he understands that it's no longer just duty that fuels his agents anymore- it's become personal for all of them. Stark hit on it when he says to Rogers, "He made it personal. That's the point." Or… something like that…paraphrasing…

When Fury says that revenge and avenge are different, and that Natasha should learn the difference, he is basically saying this: to avenge means to inflict justice, but to take revenge implicates real hatred. He wants Natasha to learn the difference because if she's going against Loki solely to hurt him for breaking Clint, then she's going to lose. Even worse, she's going to be just as bitter as Loki, and then that just doesn't lead anywhere good. So he's basically advising her to put her priorities straight. He can't control her, but he certainly can advise her...

So he lets Natasha go with veiled hints about what to do. And she takes it and runs. (I always thought that it was way too coincidental that Rogers found the both of them together in the room. I mean, hadn't she just spent like the whole day there in there with him? Doesn't the woman need to, oh I don't know, _freshen up_?) And this is where all her desperation pays off. If he hadn't realized how desperate she really was- from the angry phone call to the clandestine operation to coming personally to ask him what to do next about Agent Barton- he probably wouldn't have told her anything. Now he's willing to defy the Council for one man- a man he had previously told Natasha earlier to "shoot on sight if you have to".

So yes. There is my take on Director Fury. I apologize again in advance if this seems lower in quality than the other ones- as of right now, after editing and writing, it is 1.26 a.m. and I am completely, _completely _knackered. So enjoy and even if you don't, let me know either way! Always delighted to hear from y'all. You guys make my life amazing, seriously.


	6. a superhero

Starting time writing: 12.15 in the morning. WHYYYYY, MUSE, WHYYY.

All your support is extremely encouraging. I love you guys so much for all the favorites, story alerts, author alerts and reviews you guys have graced my tiny fic with. I am almost sorry to see it wrap up- one more chapter, and this will end. All things come to an end.

Thank you so much again. I would not have the motivation to write this much without any of you.

Disclaimer: I own... my sanity, and even then I sold most of it on eBay.

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**a superhero**_

* * *

"You look good."

Natasha sighs. "You have a girlfriend, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, are you _still _calling me Mr. Stark?" He grins mischievously. "Didn't know we were still on those terms. Anyway, can't a superhero compliment a fellow superhero on how healthy she looks?"

Banner hides a smile as he turns away and Natasha rolls her eyes, going back to the data. "Unamused, Stark."

"Oh, come now, only a bit of friendly banter between old friends-"

"Friends is hardly the word to describe it," she retorts bitingly.

"Mm," he grunts, unflappable as always.

"Here to help us, Agent Romanoff?" Banner ventures, deciding that he's going to try and put a stop to the bickering before it can officially begin. He can already sense that the two will be at each other's throats if he doesn't try and keep the two down to work. He might be amused by the banter, but the other guy is shifting in his head with frustration and all it will take is another three hours, maybe four if they don't start cooperating.

"In a manner of speaking." She doesn't look up from her computer, instead continuing to type. "I'm here to help you find the Tesseract."

Stark and Banner look at each other, clearly not expecting this. "I'm sorry," Stark says at last, "_you're _here to help find the Tesseract?"

"Something wrong, Stark?" A smirk quirks the corner of her mouth, but it's gone in a flash as she goes back to feverishly typing.

"Yes," Stark answers with as much sarcasm as he can muster, "how much do _you _know about the Tesseract?"

"Everything I need to know."

"That's… vague," Banner says.

"Why did Fury assign you here?" Stark presses. "Clearly it's not because of your intellect in technology. I mean," he backtracks, "it's not that you're stupid. I'm only saying that you're much better in other areas. Like lying to people and shooting them if they don't cooperate."

"If I was only good in that area, then you would have a gun pressed to your heart right now, Stark," Natasha retorts with a tad more venom than she usually employs against the superhero known as Iron Man. "I don't know why Fury assigned me here. Maybe it's to keep an eye on you so that you don't destroy our lab."

There is a terrible silence after she says this, and she looks up with an apologetic wince at Banner. The man is steadfastly ignoring his other two colleagues, toying with the staff as he fiddles with a wrench. "Oh, don't worry about it," he says when he looks up to see Natasha standing there with an expression crossing between humiliation and horror. "I've come to terms with this. Don't even worry about it."

"Which then brings me back to my question, Agent Romanoff," Stark says, turning on the red-haired woman. "Why did Agent Fury bring you here? To spy on the jolly green giant? No offense meant," he throws over his shoulder to Banner, who only shrugs as he goes back to hooking the staff up with wires.

"None taken," he mumbles.

"Why are you always so suspicious, Stark?" Natasha snaps. "Fury assigned me to help you find the Tesseract. Is that so hard to understand?"

"_Yes_," Stark says emphatically, pointing at her. "That _is _difficult to comprehend, my dear Black Widow, because there is no _point _in you being here! Your skill set isn't meant for this field. Fury's up to something and I want to know what it is."

"You know something Stark?" Her voice has taken on the tone that Pepper sometimes uses, the tone that says _You mess with me one more time and you are going to die a painful death_. Except Tony Stark has absolutely no doubts that unlike Pepper, Natasha Romanoff will actually follow through on that threat. "Sometimes things don't get to go _your _way. Sometimes things don't have an answer." She straightens, her face taking on a mask. "I'll inform Fury that you no longer need my assistance. Have a good day, gentlemen." With a nod and a slam of the door, Natasha Romanoff is gone.

Banner lets out a low whistle as he goes back to working. "You sure wound her up."

"Was it something I said?" Stark wonders aloud.

Banner shrugs. "Probably because you called her stupid."

…

"No."

"Stark," the Captain tries to reason with him.

"Absolutely not!" Stark jabs at his mask with the welding iron, and Steve Rogers flinches as the sparks skitter off the metal and land awfully close to him. "I'm _not _working with that man."

"He's a better man-"

"And how would you know that, Captain?" Stark puts the welding iron down and turns to face the first Avenger. "You talked to him? Spoken to him lately?"

"I just saw him five minutes ago…"

"Yeah, yeah, that's all well and good, Cap, but before this, did you speak to him? Do you know what he's like? Seen how he's acting after Loki's mind game?" Stark gestures wildly and Rogers takes a miniscule step back, not wanting to get burned. "We know _nothing _about him; twelve hours ago we didn't know what team he was on."

Rogers opens his mouth to say something but a Russian voice speaks evenly from behind him. "I've got this one, Cap."

Natasha Romanoff, evidently hearing the tail end of Stark's rant, is leaning against the door, arms crossed. She jerks her head backward at the open doorway, only saying, "Can you go talk to Clint? He's not feeling too well. Could use a little talk."

Rogers leaves, but not without a backward glance at the silent pair. Stark frowns at Natasha and waves his iron warningly. "I have a welding iron. I can burn you."

"Big deal," she scoffs at him, but only half-heartedly. "You coming with us to save Manhattan?"

"Coming, yes. Working together? Not really my style."

"You don't want to work together with Clint." Her voice is matter-of-fact, even.

"Oh, good, I don't have to mince my words." Stark rolls his eyes. "I don't have any more energy for that."

"Why not?" She takes a seat opposite him and he eyes her suspiciously. She rolls her eyes and pulls out a gun from her holster.

"The others, please." He gestures, and she sighs and pulls out a knife and several pistols. "Well, for one, sweetheart, I don't trust him. It's only been a day since we got him from Loki and to be honest, I don't trust all this hoodoo stuff."

"Don't call me 'sweetheart'. And Clint's clean," she says, and she says it with such confidence that for a moment Stark is taken aback. "I watched him myself."

"Great," Stark says with as much sarcasm as he can muster. "You watched the man sleep and spoke to him for all of three hours. I'm going to team up with him now to save the world. Incidentally, save the world that _he _helped put in danger."

He gets the feeling that at any other given point in time, the Widow would have killed him for speaking about Clint Barton like that. Instead, she looks like she's valiantly resisting picking up a knife and disemboweling him. "Stark, give him a chance."

"Why?" And he puts the iron down and eyes her. "Why should _I _give him a chance? What makes him so special that the great Black Widow would come beg me for him?" He's vaguely reminded of the interrogation tape that he watched briefly after the war in the helicarrier, something Loki said. _Your world in the balance, and you beg for one man_?

"He's my partner," she answers in return. "If Pepper were to have committed the deeds you say Clint did, wouldn't you stand by her?"

"Pepper wouldn't do what he did."

"That's what I would have said a week ago," she tells him. "But this is reality, Stark. Things happen. People do things they wish they hadn't. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you wouldn't stand by Pepper at a time like this."

"If she did something wrong, I'd let her face justice." Even as he says it, he can't bring himself to look at her, choosing instead to stare at the mask. "How bad would it look if I was accused of favoritism?"

"Much as you would like to think so, this isn't about _you_," Natasha says dryly.

He smirks at that one, the serious moment past. "Sweetheart, _everything _is about me."

"My name isn't 'sweetheart'. All I'm saying is, give Clint a chance. If he even seems like he's about to go back to Loki, I'll take him down myself." Natasha rubs her arms. "He's my partner."

"Why do you care so much?" Stark wonders aloud. "What is so special about Agent Clint Barton?"

"He's my partner-"

"No," Stark cuts in, thoughtfully surveying her, "there's a lot more than that going on, Agent Romanoff." He taps his chin.

"I owe him a debt," she says evasively.

"Yes, he saved your life when you were young, yeah, heard all that, but that was your story with Loki," Stark points out. "That story isn't going to work anymore, sweetheart. You need to find a new lie."

"Stop calling me sweetheart. And how do you know it's a lie?" She gets up and begins putting all the weapons back into their proper places.

"Why would you tell a demigod something that personal if it didn't mean anything to you?" Stark shrugs.

She slides her gun back into its holster with a 'click'. "Because he's important enough for me to care, Stark. It's what good partners do." With a grim smile, she adds, "See you in Manhattan, Stark. Don't be late."

"How do you know I'm going?"

Natasha only shrugs as she walks off. "If it came down to it, you'd stand by Pepper and help her redeem herself. Any way you could."

"No I wouldn't," he yells after her retreating back.

She only waves her hand at him before she leaves the room.

…

"Well, that was fun," Stark breaks the silence later as they are all eating shawarma.

Banner snorts, his clothes still ripped and hanging off him. "Your definition of 'fun' needs reworking."

"I am not sure what is this 'fun' you speak of, Man of Steel." Thor throws another piece of shawarma into his mouth. "This Midgardian delicacy is delicious. Another!" he booms, startling the poor shopkeepers as they scuttle around trying to find more cooking equipment.

"Slow down, buddy," Stark advises.

Silence falls over the group again as they sit at a table and eat, still not so much a team as they are a group of superheroes thrown together. The only sound that can be heard is Thor chomping down on his fifth plate of shawarma and Clint wincing as Natasha picks out pieces of glass from his arms. "Watch it," Stark thinks he hears Clint whisper as Natasha plucks out a particularly nasty looking shard from his shoulder area. _Oooooh, not a good move Hawk_, he thinks.

Instead, Natasha only murmurs, "Sorry," and continues on finding more pieces of glass.

Stark is distracted by Rogers clearing his throat. "So what now?" the man asks.

Banner looks up from mid-chew. "We separate, of course," he says as though this is ridiculously obvious to everyone.

"I shall take my brother home to face Asgardian justice," Thor rumbles. "Along with the Tesseract. It does not bode well for your planet if I allow it to remain here."

Stark shrugs. "I go back to being the city's golden boy."

"I do not understand," Thor booms. "Will you be coated in golden attire, friend Tony?"

As Banner tries to explain to Thor what the phrase means, Stark glances at the three people who haven't said anything yet. "Rogers?"

The Captain looks up, startled. "Oh. I… I was going to go find a friend."

Stark raises an eyebrow. "I thought you were asleep for sixty years. Aren't your friends all de-"

Natasha kicks him in the knee and Stark chokes on his shawarma. Rogers doesn't seem to be listening, though. "How would one find someone after sixty years?" he asks, not noticing Stark's dirty looks at Natasha or Clint's strained laughter.

"Easy, Cap. Facebook." Stark rubs his knee even as he answers.

"Midgardians have books with faces? How advanced! Do these books talk back?"

Everyone ignores Thor except Bruce.

"Come stay with me for a while," Stark advises Rogers. "I'll teach you about technology. There's a ton of room in the tower, only the top three floors or so are destroyed. And you can find your friend there."

"Only if I'm not imposing-"

Stark waves the comment off dismissively. "I'll show you around after this. Give you the grand tour. You'll be amazed at what we've done in the twenty first century."

"Well-"

"Then it's settled." Stark turns on Banner. "And _you_."

"Oh, no." Banner recoils. "You don't want me there."

"Why not? You would actually know what I'm doing up there. It gets so lonely, being the only genius around."

"In case you forgot," and Banner gestures to his clothes, "I tend to become a not so jolly green giant when I get angry."

"I'll ply you with tea," Stark promises. "Candyland, Banner. Think about it."

The scientist hesitates, clearly tempted by the promise of human contact. "I'll think about it," he says eventually.

"Great," Stark grins. "I'll see you Monday. Thor, big buddy, you in?"

"I am afraid not, friend Tony," the blonde giant answers with regret. "I must return home to Asgard, where I must guard Loki for the time being. But I will visit Earth when I can."

"Then we'll have a room for you." Stark nods. "Be careful with your brother, he's a whole new can of worms."

"I do not understand, my brother is not anything resembling the metal container you speak of, and what are _worms_?" Thor is genuinely confused, and Banner readies himself for another session of 'teach the new guy English'.

Stark faces the two assassins next. "You two up for it?"

"I don't know," Clint says hesitantly, even as he glances at Natasha. "We're S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, we move around a lot."

"Oh come now," Stark says airily, waving the excuse off. "Even agents need a place to stay."

"That would be the S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier," Natasha says, but Stark can tell that she's not telling him something.

"Government-issued bunk beds. Sure, I bet those are top of the line." Stark ticks off on his fingers as he says, "Stark Tower has personalized gyms, superb access to technology, top of the line weapons-"

"You don't carry weapons," Natasha points out.

"Okay, fine, all those were theoretical but my point is, I can make that happen." Stark taps the table. "And I carry beds with Egyptian cotton. Most comfortable things I've slept on in a while."

Natasha looks at Clint, and Clint looks at Natasha. Stark can almost hear their thoughts running through their head. _Want to do it? Why not? Why now? Do you want to_? It's almost charming, how they're watching each other for a reaction. At least, it would be charming if he weren't so impatient.

Finally, Natasha turns back to Stark. "Not right now, Stark."

Stark raises an eyebrow- he's surprised, to be honest. He'd expected Natasha to jump at the chance to be near Clint in a place where they didn't receive orders every morning. Or he expected Clint to agree, relieved, because at least Stark Tower lets him hide away to recover from the ordeal. He hadn't expected Natasha to say no, or Clint to lean back, his head nodding in agreement.

Natasha goes on, folding her hands together. "Clint needs to disappear for a while. Lay low until Fury manages to cut a deal for him with the Council."

"Thank you, however," Clint puts in.

"Not right now, meaning maybe later on in the future?"

They look at one another again, and Stark is struck by how much they seem to rely on one another for mutual support. "Maybe later on in the future," Clint says at last in his gravelly tone.

"Good." Stark nods. "Then I'll prepare your floors for you. At least you'll have a home to come back to."

…

Natasha finds him later, when Thor and Loki have left and Stark is about to climb into the car with Banner. "Thank you," she says quietly. "For offering. I know you didn't have to."

He shrugs. "Good to have a couple of assassins around, stops people from trying to kill me."

She laughs at that one. "The way to stop people from killing you is to stop being such a jerk."

"Overrated." Stark nods at Clint as he comes over to join them. "Barton."

"Stark." Clint stands by Natasha, arms folded and elbow touching hers. He almost seems a little possessive and Stark wants to laugh except that he doesn't have his armor on and Clint is capable of throwing with impeccable accuracy. "You leaving?"

"Yeah, there's a nuclear reactor I'm dying to have Banner look at." Stark glances at the pair. "You two gonna be alright, right?"

"We're spies, Stark, not porcelain dolls," Natasha remarks.

"See you soon, hopefully," Clint adds, holding his hand out to shake. "Thanks for the offer on the apartment, though. I didn't think you would trust me."

"Ah, well." Stark doesn't look at Natasha as he shakes Clint's hand. "A little bird told me that you were a good man. I'm betting on it."

As they leave, Banner glances at Stark. "When did _you _develop a heart?"

"I'm a philanthropist," Stark drawls. "I provide initiative for the good of the public. In this case, the apartment is the initiative."

"And the public would be those two?" Banner is hiding a knowing smile again.

"Maybe." Stark grins as the car gains speed. "Now, about that nuclear reactor…"

* * *

**Footnote ahead!**

It took me forever to figure out what to write for this chapter. And then it hit me- when in doubt, practice writing Tony Stark! I figured a little bit of lightness at the end was necessary to keep the mood from being ridiculously low. So enjoy some Stark banter. Or laugh at how I attempted to write it. Either way, you know… have some laughs and tell me. Or don't, and let me know!

I am trying to keep this footnote short and sweet (due to some people messaging me to tell me the footnotes are extremely long and _good gravy_, they are) and the fact that it is 1.45 in the morning is helping that along very well. So… I bid you adieu, dear readers. Questions? Comments? Unclear on anything? Criticism? Review! Review! Re..yawn.

I love y'all so much.


	7. the partner

I can't believe that this story is ending. It seems like it was yesterday that Amanah walked into my head and begged me to write about her and Natasha and Clint... and somehow it evolved from there.

You guys have been my constant source of inspiration and I cannot thank you enough. There was never a moment where I felt like I wasn't supported in this fic- you guys have been amazingly encouraging and supportive of a writer who started out with experimental one-shots. None of you HAD to read this fic or comment of favorite it- but you did, and for that I thank you so much. It means a lot to me.

Ok, enough with the sentimentalities... on to the last chapter! ;( Sniff.

Disclaimer: I own Facebook shares. No. That's a lie.

* * *

_how desperate are you, that you rely on such lost creatures?_  
_**the partner**_

* * *

He's not deaf. He's heard the rumors about Natasha Romanoff during the war. He's heard the rumors, the ones that said that she almost went off the grid just to find him. He's heard the rumors, the ones that said that she didn't care about saving _the world_, she cared about saving just one man- him. They all say the same thing: she was trying to find you.

He's heard the rumors, but Clint Barton doesn't think that they're rumors. If he knows anything about his partner, he knows that they're probably true.

…

They're alone later, just him and her sitting in his car as they head south. They don't speak- they don't have to, because they're tired and they're miserable and hell, he knows he's killed a whole lot of people and he just wants to make it all go away.

They take a break just as the sun is setting, in a fairly deserted parking lot of a diner in Pennsylvania. He rests his head on the wheel, closing his eyes for a bit before snapping them open. "How many did I kill?" he asks at last.

"Don't do that to yourself," she says automatically.

"No, Nat, this is different. I have to. These weren't terrorists or people endangering _us_- these were my friends. Your friends." A flicker of pain crosses her face, but it's gone the next. "I just-" And his hands are gripping the wheel. "I just- maybe I should go back. Face judicial action."

"You and I know that that's not the best option," Natasha says gently. "The Council will lynch you."

"Maybe I deserve it," he mumbles.

"_No_." She takes his hands in hers and grips them. "Listen to me, Clint Barton. You're a good man. What you did… you were in the wrong place at the wrong time and nobody is going to hate you for that."

He's suddenly reminded of the whispers that followed him as he walked through the hallways with the Captain by his side. He also remembers the stares, the pointing, the low angry murmurs. There was the medic, who watched him with caution, fear, hatred. There was the woman at the computer desk with red-rimmed eyes. There was also the countless body bags lining the hallways-

-and he can't take it in the small car anymore. "No." He gets out and slams the car door shut with as much force as he can muster. "No, Nat. You're lying."

"Clint, why would I lie to you?" Her tone is still soothing.

"You lie to _everyone_, Nat. It's part of what you do." He clenches his fists and pounds the top of his car. "You'll lie to protect yourself. You'd lie to protect me."

"Clint-"

"Don't even say you don't!" Clint yells, and his voice echoes uselessly across the highway. "You did it in Budapest, you did it in Syria, you did it in Moscow- Nat, _I just need to know_."

She stands there and watches him with the gaze he's so used to seeing reflected across at him on missions. "Thirty-seven," she says at last.

He lets out a breath. He'd been expecting more, but even then, thirty-seven was an awfully high number. "Thirty-seven…"

"Clint." She is moving carefully towards him now, her actions controlled and smooth. He can't help but think that this might be how she moved towards Banner. "Clint. Are you okay?"

He turns away from her. "You should leave."

"Why? Are you going to turn into a green monster, too?" Her tone is half-joking. "Clint, listen to me."

"What lie are you going to tell me now, Nat?" he asks numbly.

"Anything." Her hands move up to his face and she cups it and firmly brings it down so that they're looking at each other in the eye. "I'll tell you _anything. _Anything to make you feel better. Anything to tell you you're not alone. You have to know that."

He closes his eyes and lets her fingers rub some warmth into his cheeks. "Anything?" he whispers brokenly.

"Anything," she whispers.

They stand like that for a few minutes before breaking apart. "I should drive," Natasha says at last. "You've been driving for a long while and you're probably still really tired from the battle."

"No." he says quickly. The nightmares will come back if he sleeps, he knows. He glances at the diner. "How about we get some apple pie instead? Your favorite."

She senses his desperation (because she _hates _apple pie, blueberry was more her style), and therefore nods even though she knows it's wise that they keep moving so that they're not found easily. "Yeah. That sounds good."

…

They arrive at their hiding spot a few hours later when the night is dark and the stars are twinkling above them. Their hiding spot of choice is a small lodge, practical and easy to escape from if there are any troubles for them- but right now, all Clint really cares about is sitting by the fire and trying to escape his ghosts.

"I'll take the couch," he says when they get in.

"You know I like the couch," Natasha says indignantly.

He smirks briefly- he had indeed forgotten for a bit. "We can swap off," he offers. "Who knows how long we'll be here?"

"Can't be any worse than the time we were in Lisbon," Natasha replies even as she moves into the kitchen. Her voice floats out as she checks the cupboard. "Two whole months in the same apartment with just you, me and Hill for company. I was about to kill someone."

"You and me both, sweetheart." Clint scavenges the linen cupboard and comes up with a sleeping bag and some soft pillows. "I found my bed."

"I thought you were sleeping on the sofa." Natasha comes out with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. "Don't tell me you _just _decided to become a gentleman."

He shrugs, not really wanting to tell her why he wants to be near her. "Floodlights can spot people upstairs better, and there aren't any real accessible escape routes up there."

She eyes him with a look that is skeptical and disbelieving. "Uh huh."

Not wanting to pursue the subject any further, Clint begins unrolling the sleeping bag next to the sofa. "Anyway, if you hate living in the same space for a long period of time, why did you even agree to Stark's idea?"

It's her turn to be evasive, apparently, because she turns away and busies herself with pouring the wine into the two glasses. "I thought maybe some stability would be good for us. Being in the S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier all the time gets a little claustrophobic. And I know how much you like open spaces."

He can't argue with that one. "But you always hated stability," he says instead.

She hums at that one. "I don't _hate _stability. I just… I think it's good every once in a while."

"For me, or for you?" He takes her offered glass of wine and sips it; the taste dribbles down his throat, sweet and fruity.

"For both of us," she says honestly, turning to him. "Haven't you ever wondered what it's like to be like Stark and Rogers and Banner?"

"Egoistical, frozen for sixty years, and anger management issues?" Clint takes another sip of his wine. "No. I'd rather my issues of guilt."

A silence flows between them after that remark as Clint stares into his glass and she looks away into the fire. "Clint…" she says quietly, her voice vibrating with her Russian accent and throbbing with sympathy for him. He really, really hates that tone, because it reminds him that there are always things about him that require sympathy, like his parents, his brother, his mistakes and more importantly, now his newest ghosts.

"Don't," he says shortly.

"_Now _you don't want to talk about it?" She sits on the couch and puts her glass on the ledge next to the fireplace. "You get to choose one or the other. Not both."

There's another silence because she doesn't want to push him and he _wants _her to demand an answer. Finally, he breaks the silence. "Thirty-seven?"

"It's only an estimate," she says gently.

"How did they…"

"Does it matter?" Natasha runs her fingers through her hair. "Do you really want to open up that box of monsters, Clint?"

He sighs and takes another long sip of his wine. "No. No, I guess not."

There's another silence, this one longer than the first. Clint breaks the silence again: "Is it true that you were trying to find me?"

She nods, not even bothering to deny it. "Yes."

"Why?" Clint swirls the last dregs of his wine. "Everyone else gave up hope on me. Fury did. I know Stark did. And everyone on that helicarrier hates me right now. Why didn't _you_?"

(He's hoping for that one answer, but there's something at the back of his head that says, _You'll never get it_.)

Natasha takes a moment to reflect on that question. "I went looking for you because everybody else gave up hope on you," she says at last, meeting his eyes with the same confident gaze he's so used to seeing. "Because you're my partner. Because I owe you a debt."

"You don't owe-"

"Your blood runs through my veins, Clint," she says. "You gave me _your _blood when I was dying, you saved me when I was young, you stopped me from dying in Budapest. I- when I heard that you were compromised, I couldn't-" She stops.

"You couldn't…" he prompts gently when she doesn't continue.

"…I couldn't let you die," she says eventually. "I don't hate you for what you did. People make mistakes and we have to look past that sometimes. You taught me that, didn't you?"

The both of them pretend not to hear the unspoken phrase _because I care _trample around the way an elephant would in a room.

Finally, Clint puts his glass down. "We should go to bed," he says quietly.

She agrees. "We can talk about travel plans tomorrow. Keep moving until Fury finds us."

He hesitates because the last time he asked this question, she almost killed him and then fed him to the Chinese officials. "Nat… can I ask you a question?"

She looks at him and he takes it as a signal to continue. "You know how you told me you'd tell me anything to make me feel better?"

(He briefly wonders if he should ask her _the _question he's been wondering.)

She nods, slowly, so he rushes on. "I… I was wondering if you'd tell me more about yourself. You know my secrets, but I don't know yours."

(He swallows the question. It can wait.)

An expression flickers over her face- it's either fear or sadness, he can't really tell, and then she's herself once more. "You don't want your nightmares to get any worse," she says. "There are things about me that no one should know. Ever."

His mouth quirks into a smile, something that only she can interpret as an ironic smile. "Sweetheart, you think what I did the last few days is something I want everyone to know?"

"It's not the same, Clint." Her tone is firm. "I'm trying to protect you."

"Another lie?" he asks rhetorically, and he knows that she sees the pain in his eyes, the haunted look that follows him after Loki played mental games with his mind and there it is, the moment where she _realizes _that he just needs to know that there's someone as broken as he is. All he needs is someone to say that yes, they understand what he's going through. That they know what it's like to be completely unmade, to have to start anew. That they know what it's like to be completely alone and then offer their own hand to help.

She realizes that Clint needs her. Physically, because he needed her to rescue him, but emotionally as well. And she needs him, too.

So when she slithers down to sit next to him by the fire, he's not really surprised. "I trust you," she tells him and it's with complete sincerity. "No lies. Pure honesty."

He waits.

She takes a deep breath, reaching for his hand as she does so. "My real name is Natalia Romanova. I was born in Stalingrad, Russia…"

…

The nightmares find him that night, but when he bolts upright in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping down his forehead, a slender arm curls around him and red hair swims into view. "Go back to sleep," a Russian tinted voice whispers, and Clint is so tired that he complies, settling back under the covers while a voice hums a foreign lullaby.

…

Fury calls a few days later when they're making their way into Florida, informing them that Clint is cleared for duty and they can return to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. In response, Clint asks if they can take a few more days of leave off because what is Fury going to do, refuse?

He's right- the director begrudgingly acquiesces.

"What on earth are you doing?" Natasha demands as Clint hangs up and tosses the S.H.I.E.L.D. assigned phone into the back seat. "We have to go back-"

"Not really," Clint says cheerfully, although there are still bags under his eyes. "You said you'd never enjoyed the ocean before."

"That was a one-time thing. I don't really think we should-"

"Live a little, Nat," Clint says carelessly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. can function without us for a little while. If it was urgent Fury would have demanded for us to be back."

She can't argue with that one. "So… we're going to the beach?"

He snorts. "And have to share it with civilians? No."

"Then _where _are we going?"

She only gets a smile in response.

…

An hour later, they pull up in front of a cove. She gets out of the car, her eyes reflecting the endless seascape of blue and green water as the wind tousles her red hair. She's tired and hasn't really gotten a good night's sleep the last few nights, but Clint can't help but think that she's a gorgeous creature. "How did you-"

"This is where I came one night while I was in the circus," Clint explains, getting out of the car and joining her by the railing. "I always felt at peace here." He glances sideways at his partner. "I think the both of us could use a little peace."

She nods, her eyes fixed on what lies ahead as his hand finds hers and closes around it.

For a moment, the two assassins stand by the lookout point, letting the sounds of the sea wash away their troubles and worries. Two people, joined together by partnership, joined together by troubles. Partners who are willing to go to the ends of the earth for one another even if it hurt them to do so.

Just two people who need each other to survive.

And for a moment, all is right in the world.

* * *

**FOOTNOTE AHEAD**

Ahh there it is, the last chapter. I feel like I'm letting my baby go ;_;

Anyway, this chapter was by _far _the most difficult chapter to write. These two have a very tricky balance especially since he's the character she was trying to save throughout the entire story , so I was trying to figure out how to write them (if I wanted to write this chapter at all). I was just really obsessed with the idea of Clint being lost after the war and Natasha finding him. But in the end it worked out- at least in my head- so let me know what you think!

I cannot stress how touched I am by your thoughtful reviews and constant encouragement. This started out as an experiment and I am incredibly honored that you guys bothered to read it at all! Thank you so much again. See you next fic! Don't forget to tell me if you liked it, loved it, hated it, couldn't care less…. I always appreciate your input!

Much love,  
ohlookrandom


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